


Bedside Manner

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Joanlock - Freeform, little tiny bit of hurt and comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here is something light and romantic with Sherlock in a coma ... I don't know ... It was meant to be a drabble for Tumblr and it kept growing ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedside Manner

Visiting hours passed and the hospital ward took on a hushed otherworldliness. The lights dimmed and a blanket of silence fell, disrupted intermittently by the tiny beeps of monitors and the soft rustle of staff checking in on sleeping patients .... except Sherlock wasn't sleeping. 

Joan wrapped her red cardigan a little tighter around herself. The room seemed colder at night and the antiseptic smells more pronounced. The cardigan came with her for warmth and comfort after the second night. This was night four. She knew keeping vigil like this was unnecessary but she couldn't leave him here alone. 

A wooden beam had placed him in his current condition. The old house he was searching seemed to have been waiting Sherlock. The beam split and just enough of the ceiling collapsed to strike him hard about the head. Sherlock was brought into the hospital comatose. 

All in all, the prognosis was good - he was strong, physically fit, expected to come out of this soon. But nothing was ever a certainty in medicine; that painful lesson was burned into her skin. You never took anything for granted. 

Being a former doctor did have its benefits; one of them was knowing the right people - people who granted her permission to stay with him after hours. Joan came and went from his bedside throughout the day but her preference was for the quiet of the evenings when it was just her and Sherlock and no chance of some acquaintance catching her at his side with that tear that on occasion threatened to slip. He was hers to watch over, take care of and talk to. Research indicated, and his doctors agreed, that those in comas, while not able to respond, may be conscious enough to understand what was going on around them, to hear and find comfort in the companionship of family and friends. 

She talked to him but did not prattle like others did when in his room. Joan would sometimes swallow a smile as nurses and visitors kept up a steady stream of unnecessary commentary around him; she could practically sense his irritation, hear him bellow for silence. Evenings were better for her and Sherlock, always had been.

Joan stood over him, adjusted his oxygen, brought his blanket a little higher on his chest, checked his i.v. and his monitors before sitting by his side once more. Seeing Sherlock completely immobile pained her. The man was usually incapable of being still; even when concentrating at full attention, muscles would twitch, fingers flex in unique rhythms and patterns, eyes flit, neck crack ... she sighed ... she missed him.

Had he been conscious, her next action would have appalled him. She sought out his none-i.v.'ed hand under the thin grey-green blanket and wrapped her warm hand around his fingers. The utter lack of response from him was completely expected but still it bothered her.

"I know... you'd rather I didn't," Joan leaned forward a little and looked up at his face, "but this is for me." She squeezed his hand, then laced her fingers between his and continued talking. "I know you can hear me, at least I hope you can ..." The word 'hope' produced a lump in her throat and she had to stop for a second to recompose herself.

"There is something I need to say to you, something I should have said long ago but have never had the courage. I think you know, I think probably everybody knows ..." a small smile crossed her lips when she thought how foolish she was to think she could contain and hide her feelings. 

"I love you."

The words lingered in the air before her and draped themselves upon him. The tear that had been threatening for days now quietly slipped and slid down her cheek.

"I love you. And it certainly wasn't 'love at first sight,'" she paused as she remembered their first meeting, "but my feelings for you have grown steadily to the point of encompassing all that I am. I cannot ... I don't want to imagine me without you Sherlock. I love you. I need you to come back to me. You were right when you said we are bound to each other ... I know the depth of your feeling for me and I want you to know its reciprocated."

In vain, she searched his face for any a sign of acknowledgment of her words, a fleeting flex of muscles, an involuntary twitch but he lay dormant, unmoving. Just as well she thought, if he were conscious he would have smirked or grimaced at her gushing, and walked away. 

Exhaustion, emotional and physical, took hold. Joan bent forward and lay her forehead on the side of his body. As she started drifting off, the strains of an old song danced through her head, "a fine romance my friend this is ..."

She was awakened by the touch of an arm on her shoulder. The lights were on and the nurse at her side spoke to her, "Why don't you go get some rest? It's nearly 5:00 a.m. We'll take good care of him, I promise."

Joan discreetly untangled her hand from his and pulled it out from beneath his blanket. She sat up and politely smiled at the nurse, and nurse tech behind her, waiting to change sheets. "I guess I could use a break. You'll let me know if there's any change."

The nurse returned her polite smile, tinged Joan thought with pity, "Of course. We have your numbers."

"Do you think I could have a moment with him ... I just need a second."

The nurse nodded and she and the tech left the room. Joan leaned over Sherlock's face, "I know you're in there, and it's probably quite peaceful ... But I need you out here with me." Her heart pounded as she got closer and laid her lips on his. This would most likely be her only chance to kiss the man, she thought. His lips were soft and non-responsive. Joan let her forehead rest on his for a second. "Fairy tales lie ..." she said to herself as she dragged herself away from the still, comatose Sherlock. 

The fifth day was long for her. She visited him when she could, told him about her current case, a simple surveillance he would have told her was beneath her. But bills needed to get paid.

Late afternoon, in the middle of her pre-visit nap, the phone call came. He had opened his eyes, said something no one could decipher and was being examined at the moment but he was conscious and alert and apparently agitated. She was out the door before the phone call ended. 

 

Joan walked into his room to find him sitting up in bed, going through his own chart. His eyes lit up at the sight of her and the scowl on his face momentarily brightened as she approached his bedside, "Finally!" His voice was hoarse from disuse, "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you."

She couldn't hide the happiness that spread through her and she impulsively sat on the bed, reached in and hugged him as tight as she could without unplugging something. He held on just as tight, clasping the back of her head to him and burrowing his head in the crook of her neck. 

Sherlock suddenly moved out of the embrace, his hands still holding on to her. He cleared his throat and searched her face, struggling to say something, his eyes brimmed with emotion. "Watson," was all he managed enunciate but the name carried every bit of feeling he had for her. His utterance of her name, the name only he could pronounce and turn into an endearment, to her ears was sweeter than all the declarations of love she'd ever received. It filled her with joy and pushed held back tears from her eyes. 

"Sherlock," and she imbued his name with all the love she felt for him.

Sherlock instinctively reached to wipe the tears away, caressing her face as he did. His own wayward tear slipped down his cheek. The sound of footsteps at the entrance to the room and the polite knock from the nurse pulled them apart. 

They separated and she sat close enough to touch but not touching. He wiped his face brusquely and covered up his sentiment with a flurry of questions for his partner who was likewise composing herself. "They told me I've been out for five days. Was Mr. Billingsley our culprit? Is he in custody? ... "

She answered all his questions, enjoying the give and take that came so naturally to them. Joan thought that other than looking pale and tired, he seemed to be suffering little effect from his ordeal. He thought the same of her. 

Dr. Winston came in and stood at the threshold watching them. They looked like two kids exchanging stories after a long summer vacation. He knew Joan from her intern days. "Alright you two, enough. Joan, you know better than that, the man needs rest." With a shake of his head, he took the chart from the bed where Sherlock had cast it aside on seeing Joan. 

A slightly guilty looking Joan stood up. "He seems to be responding to stimuli as well as before his injury." She tried her best to sound detached and professional. The look on Dr. Winston's face told her he wasn't buying it. 

"So when will I be discharged?" Sherlock was eager to get out.

"We'll see how your tests come back first. I've ordered an MRI. We are going to take it slow and make sure you're at 100% before we release you." The doctor scribbled something on his chart and left the room, and much to Sherlock's dismay Joan followed him.

Once outside, Joan asked the doctor for his opinion of Sherlock's condition. 

"He is remarkably well. So far, I've seen no affects of his injury other than agitation and some belligerence ..."

"That's actually normal for him," Joan said with some amusement. 

"That seemed to clear up when he saw you." It was now the doctor's turn to be amused at Joan's showing of embarrassment. "You can probably take him home in a day or two depending on his test results."

She thanked him and walked back into the room.

"So what did he say?" Sherlock said brightly.

"Don't pretend you didn't hear that." 

He rewarded her with a grimace. "Well, if I'm stuck here how about you bring me some work, hmm?" She shook her head no. "My laptop?" She shook her head no again. "My phone?"

"Nope." She sat in her chair. "You need rest."

"I've been in bed for five bloody days, how much more rest do I need."

Joan stared him down. Her face reflected her concern for him and he backed down. "So what was it like?" 

Sherlock struggled to answer her question. "It's very vague.... Like a dream. Somethings are clear ... Others muddled ..."

They talked for a few minutes more until his eyes drooped and his head slipped down onto the pillows. The nurse came in just as Joan was getting up. "I'll be in the cafeteria if you need me."

The nurse nodded. "You know I think, this afternoon when he came out of the coma, he asked for you. He was hoarse and difficult to understand but he was adamant almost desperate, repeating himself over and over again. We thought perhaps he was asking for Winston, his doctor, but he didn't know who his doctor was at that point. I noticed he calls you Watson."

Joan nodded, feeling her cheeks flush.

"He said something else but we couldn't make heads or tails out of it. Something like "never asked for" or "ever" something." 

A particularly loud snore from Sherlock made them both jump, and Joan took the opportunity to leave the room.

 

After many tests, examinations and much complaining, Sherlock was released two days later. The process had been arduous for both of them and both were relieved to cross the threshold of their home together. 

Joan hung her jacket and turned to head downstairs, "Your mail is on your chair. Why don't you sit down and go through it while I start tea." 

Before she could move towards the stairs, his hand caught her at the elbow and made its way down to her hand. No touch had passed between them since that spontaneous hug two days ago. His fingers comfortably wrapped themselves around her hand and gently pulled her closer to him. Her hand adjusted itself in his as she looked up at him trying to decipher the look on his face. Her heart beat a little faster. 

He dropped his head in close to her, his voice whisper soft, "I meant to chastise you about your bedside manner earlier but the opportunity never presented itself. It was very unprofessional of you to take advantage of an incapacitated man who had no ability at the time to respond to your advances." With that he leaned in and tenderly placed a kiss on the lips of a very surprised Joan. 

Her eyes were closed, an expression of bliss upon on her face as he placed his forehead on hers and murmured, "Happily ever after, Watson?" Joan, surprised at his words, opened her eyes in time to see him approaching her once more with another soft kiss for her on his lips. 

"Happily ever after."


End file.
